


Hobbit in Dwarf's Clothing

by EarendilElwing



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Everybody Lives, Fluff, King and Consort AU, M/M, Sword Fighting, bagginshield, bagginshieldfluffyfeb, momentary identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilElwing/pseuds/EarendilElwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin insists that Bilbo learn to use his sword properly.  Bilbo didn’t realize how much such a simple request would change him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hobbit in Dwarf's Clothing

**Author's Note:**

> For the Tumblr Bagginshield Fluffy February prompt “Sword Training”. It kinda went a little sideways.

“Are you sure this is necessary?” Bilbo asked, eyeing the practice swords dubiously.

Thorin glanced up from inspecting the wooden blades on the table.  “Absolutely.  While you did well enough during the quest, even _you_ must admit that much of your success was due to your stealth, not your skill with a sword.  If you are to remain safe within these halls, you must learn how to fight properly.”

Bilbo poked at one of them.  “Do you really think someone might try to hurt me?” he wondered, his voice low and agitated.

Thorin turned to him and set his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders.  He bent to kiss his forehead.  “I sincerely hope not.  But you heard Nori’s report.  Not everyone agrees with my decision to wed you, and there are factions who yet hold discontent for my line because of my grandfather’s actions.  They may not take issue with you specifically, but they would not be above harming you in order to harm me.  I will not take that chance.”  He scowled a little.  “And since you will not be persuaded to accept a unit of armed guards, and I myself cannot be with you at all times, then the only solution is to teach you to defend yourself.”

Bilbo sniffed indignantly.  “An entire unit of guards is completely unreasonable.  Lady Freya is more than adequate.”  He sighed at Thorin’s slightly crestfallen expression.  “But if it’s really that important to you, I will learn.”

Thorin smiled and hugged him.  “It is.”  They separated, and after further deliberation, Thorin choose a practice sword that was similar in length and weight to Sting, and handed it to Bilbo.  He took up another, very similar to the first, and led Bilbo to the center of the deserted practice area.

“First things first,” Thorin said, reverting to instructor-mode.  “Show me your stance.”

Bilbo understood what he meant, but he really didn’t have a specific stance.  During battle, he had simply charged and started hacking away at his opponent.  He knew very little of proper form and technique.

He planted his feet parallel to one another about a hip’s width apart.  He gripped the hilt of the wooden weapon with both hands and extended his arms to hold it up to chest height.

Thorin circled him critically, not unlike when they first met in Bag End.  “Well, if your enemies would be kind enough to stand still while you walk forward to impale them, you might win the day.”

Bilbo glared at him.  “Are you just going to make fun of me or are you actually going to instruct me?”

Thorin seemed to find amusement with Bilbo’s irritation.  “Peace, love!  I’m getting to it.  First of all, stagger your feet – like this.”  He shifted to a lunge stance.  “By standing this way, you’ll be able to switch positions more easily.  Also, bring your sword down…” He placed his hands on Bilbo’s forearms and pushed so that his blade was a little above waist height but on guard.

“That’s better.  Now – I’m going to show you a series of basic sword positions.  Follow my lead.”

He demonstrated several different ways to angle the sword and explained the best way to utilize each.  After flowing through them enough times for Bilbo to memorize them, Thorin decided to jump right to sparing.

“We’ll go easy for a while.  I’m going to move as if to hit you, but give you plenty of time to consider which strike or block to use.  We’ll speed up as you improve.”

Bilbo nodded and took his stance.  Thorin came at him at a leisurely pace, and when their weapons collided, Bilbo could tell that he was holding back.

But he decided he didn’t want that.  He didn’t often engage in or allow himself be talked into activities that went against his nature, but when he did, he didn’t restrain himself.  It was all or nothing with him.

Once he’d gotten the hang of things, he decided to surprise Thorin by jumping on the offensive.  Instead of blocking, parrying, or dodging, he began to initiate attacks.

Thorin’s eyes widened, but then he increased his own speed and the force of the blows.

Neither made a move to actually strike one another at first, but when it became clear that Bilbo was eagerly rising to the challenge, Thorin began to take any open opportunities to smack him with the flat side of the blade.

Bilbo shot his husband a furious look, but suppressed any protests.  He knew Thorin would just lecture him about how his enemies were not likely to show any mercy.  He did, however, yelp loudly when he received a particularly vicious blow to the side.  “OW!  Thorin!  That one really hurt!” he complained, backing away from the smirking dwarf.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said, though he didn’t sound like it.  “Shall I kiss it and make it better?”

“You wish!” Bilbo snapped.  He charged once more.

They practiced for almost two hours.  Thorin interspersed their duels with instructions and frequent corrections.  Finally, he called for an end, and Bilbo collapsed to the ground on his bottom.

“Not bad for your first sparring session, but you’ve still got a long way to go,” Thorin said, offering him a hand to help him back up.

Bilbo ignored the appendage and just sat there, panting and sulking.  His sweat-damp hair was stuck to his forehead and neck, and his clothes were likewise drenched and clinging to his skin.  He was so sore and tired; he could barely lift his arms and couldn’t remember if he’d ever felt so exhausted, including during the quest.

Thorin knelt and abruptly picked him up, leaving their weapons on the floor.

“Hey!” Bilbo half-heartedly protested.

Thorin just chuckled and kissed his consort on the cheek.  “Come.  I think we are both in need of a bath.”

“I can walk, thank you very much!” Bilbo groused, though he didn’t actually try to extract himself from Thorin’s grip.

They took a meal first, then retired to their rooms to bathe.  Bilbo was alarmed by the number of bruises coloring his body.

“I’m sorry, Ghivashel,” Thorin murmured as he applied a salve to the purple blotches.  “I did not did not mean to hurt you so.”

Bilbo tried not to flinch from the touch to his overly-sensitive skin.  He crossed his arms.  “It’s fine.  I suppose I just need to toughen up.”

Thorin embraced him, nosing his clean curls.  “I wish it were not so.  If Erebor was more stable, you can be assured that you’d never have to know such hardship.  As it is, I need you to be strong, for I know that I cannot be without you.”

Bilbo relaxed against him and sighed.  “Must you be so dramatic?”

Thorin didn’t answer, but Bilbo could feel his smile against his neck.

“Don’t get too cozy.  That blow to my side still hurts quite a bit.  You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Thorin laughed, but did as he was told.

* * *

Months passed by quickly.  Everyone that had returned or relocated to Erebor was busy helping with the restoration, including Thorin and Bilbo.  In spite of their duties, Thorin made time every day to train Bilbo, first in swordplay, then in hand-to-hand combat with an emphasis on submission holds.

The first few weeks were undoubtedly the hardest.  Bilbo was in nearly constant pain from aching muscles and tender, multi-colored contusions.  But gradually, so much so that he barely observed it, he began to grow stronger.  He would never match the strength of a dwarf, but he tired less easily, he could swing the wooden blade, and then Sting, with remarkable power, speed and accuracy for one of his stature.

His body noticeably changed as well.  Where once he had the chubby cheeks and short cropped hair of his kind, he now had flowing, wavy locks that cascaded in a single braid to the middle of his back, as well as sharper facial features.  His arms, chest, and back became corded with toned muscle, though his middle remained stubbornly soft.

Between that, and his new wardrobe that consisted mainly of dwarven tunics and robes, he hardly looked like a hobbit anymore.  He didn’t even realize how much he’d changed, until Gandalf stopped by on his way to Gondor.

* * *

The Grey Pilgrim’s visits were infrequent and unpredictable.  Thorin wasn’t especially fond of the wizard, but Bilbo was always eager for news of the Shire and Rivendell.  Along with the latest gossip, he always brought him a small parcel of Shire-grown pipe weed, and gifts from his distant relations (those who still acknowledged his existence anyway).

On this occassion, Bilbo was seated at his desk in the king’s offices, rereading a letter from Bard, when the wizard strolled in without knocking.

“Ah, here we are!  Honestly, these halls become more twisted and confusing every time I’m here,” he began in lieu of a proper greeting.  He stopped short when Bilbo looked up.  “Oh, excuse me!  I seem to be in the wrong room.  I’m looking for the king’s consort, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo frowned in confusion.  “Gandalf, it’s me.  You’re in the right room.”

“Are you?”  Gandalf leaned forward on his staff and narrowed his eyes to squint at him.  “Dear me!  It _is_ you!  I hardly recognized you, dear boy.”

“What do you mean? I’m the same as always.”

Gandalf laughed.  “Why, Bilbo, I mistook you for a dwarf!  Really, have you not looked at yourself lately?”

Bilbo couldn’t make sense of such an odd statement, but before he could formulate any kind of response, Thorin and Balin entered the room and completely changed the subject.

* * *

Hours later, Bilbo still didn’t know how to react to the short exchange.  Neither he, nor Gandalf, brought it up, but for some reason, Bilbo felt disturbed by the observation.  It was like a little prickle at the back of his mind, and he was thoughtful and quiet the rest of the day.

Had he really changed so much?  Thorin often _celebrated_ the cultural differences between them, insisting that he loved everything about Bilbo and his peculiarities.  But now that he thought of it, he had definitely allowed his hobbit instincts to wane, ever since Thorin had started training him to fight and fend for himself.  What began as a simple exercise in self-preservation had somehow wormed its way into the other areas of his life.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had tended a garden, baked his own meal, read a book for pure enjoyment, or knit a sweater.

After dinner, Bilbo excused himself to go back to his room, leaving Thorin to discuss current events with Gandalf.  He ignored the questioning looks, feigned fatigue, and left them to it.

When he got back to his and Thorin’s bedroom, he immediately made a beeline for the tall mirror next to the wardrobe.

By the Valar – it was true!  Were it not for the lack of a beard and the hair-covered feet poking out at the bottom of his robes, he could very well pass for a dwarf!

His hair was too long.  He kept most of it in a single, thick braid, save for the smaller marriage plait on the left side, but the points of his ears were covered by the loose strands that had escaped their bounds, and their shells were adorned with golden cuffs and earrings.

He was wearing an embroidered Durin-blue tunic beneath a dark grey, fur-lined robe.  The tunic showed off his newly toned physique, and was subtly adorned with jewels around the collar and the cuff of the sleeves.

His skin had grown pale from the long hours spent under the mountains, having lost its sun-kissed glow.

Instead of earth or flour, his hands were covered with a layer of thick calluses from wielding Sting.

Overcome with a sudden, indescribable panic, Bilbo shrugged off his coat and let it drop to the floor.  He kept his trousers on, but he removed the tunic and replaced it with one of his old shirts from the dresser.

He removed every piece of jewelry, except for his wedding ring, and let them fall atop his coat and tunic.

Finally, he retrieved one of Thorin’s hidden daggers (he insisted that neither one of them should ever be more than three feet away from a weapon at all times).  He held it to the braid against the back of his neck.

“Bilbo?!  What in Mahal’s name do you think you’re doing?”

Bilbo lowered the dagger and whirled around.  Unsurprisingly, Thorin had followed him and had caught him just in time.

Thorin hurried over and wrestled the dagger from Bilbo’s regrettably strong grip.  “Give me that!”

“Let go!  I need to cut my hair!”

“Whatever for?”  A few more seconds of struggling, and Thorin managed to get the knife away.  He discarded it carelessly on the floor and pulled the thrashing hobbit to his chest.  “Ghivashel, what’s wrong?”

Bilbo tried to twist away just as he would during one of their sparring sessions, but Thorin was still, and always would be, stronger than him.  Eventually, Bilbo gave up trying to get away.  “I am a hobbit!” he declared.

Thorin raised a brow.  “Yes,” he said slowly.  “Of course you are.”

Bilbo sighed, lowered his gaze, and told him of his brief encounter with Gandalf in their offices, and his resulting identity crisis.

“Bilbo,” Thorin breathed, his mien remorseful.  “It was never my intent to change you.  I only wished to alleviate my own fears for your safety.”

“I know,” said Bilbo.  “It’s my own fault, not yours.  I just… I guess I just wanted to be accepted.  Almost everyone has been wonderfully accommodating, but I didn’t want to do anything that might put you in danger either.  I don’t want to offend someone to the point that they would hold it against you.”

“I don’t think there’s any cause for concern in that way,” Thorin assured him.  “The kingdom absolutely adores you.  I’ve heard nothing against you, though I wouldn’t allow it anyway.  If something were to happen to cause discontent against the throne, it will likely be _my_ doing, not yours.”

Bilbo didn’t say it out loud, but he had to agree.  Thorin’s temper did get him into trouble on a regular basis.  Luckily, Bilbo and Balin had become quite efficient at damage control.

He laughed at himself.  “I guess I was being rather silly, wasn’t I?”

“Maybe a little,”Thorin answered.  “But you are one hobbit in a mountain full of dwarves.  It’s natural to feel disconnected from yourself in such an environment.”  His jaw clenched as he considered the matter.  “We do not have to continue with your sword lessons, if you do not wish it.”

Bilbo shook his head.  “No; I mean – I hated it at first, but now I really enjoy it.  I don’t want to stop.”

An idea stuck him.  “Maybe, we can do a trade.”  Thorin didn’t seem to catch on, so he elaborated, “What I mean is, I’ll keep up with the sword lessons, but maybe I can teach you how some of my own hobbies.”

“Like what?”

Bilbo mulled it over.  “Well, there aren’t any suitable areas in the mountain to plant a recreational garden.  And Bombur’s not about to let you anywhere near the kitchens after your last attempt at baking.”  He continued to think back on all the activities that he and most other hobbits indulged in, wondering which might engage Thorin’s interest enough to be willing to participate.

Suddenly, an evil grin spread across Bilbo’s lips.  An image of Thorin, curled up with him in the armchair and helping him crochet a sweater, flashed into his mind.

He caught Thorin’s hand as he tried to back away, who recognized that conving look in his eye.

Only then did Thorin truly regret teaching Bilbo how to fight and help him discover his own strength.

**Author's Note:**

> Eh.. I’m not super happy with this, but I really need to get back to my multi-chaptered stories. Maybe I’ll go back and expand this at some point.
> 
> Anyway, I hope it was somewhat enjoyable. Thanks for reading!


End file.
